


Feed me the berries of dark.

by sleepdrunk



Series: Mother, keep out of my barnyard, I am becoming another. [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blanket Permission, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-17 15:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20623562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepdrunk/pseuds/sleepdrunk
Summary: There was a hell of a lot a person could get used to.Aziraphale balanced atop a felled log, when Crowley told her.They were deep in the woods around Fern Canyon and the forest had that mossy, fecund smell that mixed with the smell of ozone and the fishy, salty ocean. She’d never get that smell out of her brain. She looked down at her sneakers and carefully placed one foot in front of the other and avoided patches of moss covering deep crevices in wet timber.“I need to show you something.”





	1. Chapter 1

There was a hell of a lot a person could get used to.

Aziraphale balanced atop a felled log, when Crowley told her.

They were deep in the woods around Fern Canyon and the forest had that mossy, fecund smell that mixed with the smell of ozone and the fishy, salty ocean. She’d never get that smell out of her brain. She looked down at her sneakers and carefully placed one foot in front of the other and avoided patches of moss covering deep crevices in wet timber.

“I need to show you something.”

Aziraphale stumbled for just a second, hands out at hip height and giving a jerk to right herself. She didn’t relish the sight below-- a ravine, deceptively squishy with bushes and slimy algae covered rocks like teeth.

“Show me what? I had better not turn around and find you altogether indecent...”

“Er, no. Turn around--”

The voice behind her sounded distant and close, all at once. She came to the end of the log and hopped onto solid ground. A startled amphibian of some sort leapt out of her way and into the grass. She stared after it, distracted. Stuck in her head.

“Turn around, but-- keep your composure. Nothing can harm you.” Crowley’s voice was somehow bigger-- resonating all around Aziraphale in a way it really shouldn’t have.

The world around her seemed to ripple and Aziraphale went from checked out and losing herself in nature, to too real, too much.

She turned slowly and faced the woman on the fallen tree. She stood like a beacon; a statue carved from marble in a place it really shouldn’t have been. The shape of her friend, but almost as though that corporeal form had been hastily thrown over something it could never adequately cover. Aziraphale kept her breathing even and forced her eyes to stay open.

The glittering sunlight that had a moment ago glistened through the soaking canopy above darkened in an instant and cast their figures in some preternatural twilight. Somehow, Crowley was illuminated all on her own, a subtle glow emanating from her skin-- just enough to highlight her form and features.

She still neared six feet, mostly leg; clad in tight dark jeans with a tapered leg, clunky leather boots, hoodie over flannel with a vest. Her face was the same, and she gave Aziraphale an inscrutable look while she waited.

The only clear difference, aside from ambient supernatural fuckery, was the fact that now she had horns.

///

“Funny, I never took you for a fainter.”

Aziraphale came to on the forest floor. She was on her side, her head resting against something soft and puffy, the texture of a sleeping bag.

Crowley peered at her, bags under her eyes but no worse for wear, and she looked smaller-- her vest was gone, Aziraphale realized. That’s what her head rested on, then-- it smelled like Crowley; her shampoo and deodorant and skin.

That was nice of her-- it was comfortable, and she must be cold without it--

_Horns._

The face in front of her was framed by horns.

Fucking horns. Big, unmistakable horns-- a pair just like a bighorn sheep. They began just above her temples and wrapped back around around her ears before coming to one last little curlicue, and a point a few inches in front of her cheekbones. They were about the thickness of Aziraphale’s wrist, and even thicker at the apex.

Crowley cocked her head and smiled as though nothing had changed.

“Please tell me I’m stoned,” Aziraphale managed.

“Nope.” Crowley smiled again and twisted open a canteen with a squeak and the sound of metal on metal.

“Demon.”

“Not quite.”

“Then how--”

“Satyr.” She winked and shot back a mouthful from the flask. “Whiskey? I am a lustful, drunken, woodland god, after all.”

“Right…” Aziraphale moved slowly as though to sit up. “Could you hand me my backpack?” While Crowley was preoccupied momentarily, she reached up and undid the clasp of her necklace-- a small, silver crucifix.

A long arm reached over her and retrieved the bag. Taking it, Aziraphale rooted around, keeping her breathing even. A_h_. Her finger curled around a dinky, plastic trigger-- a small, toy water gun. She wrapped her necklace around the dinky plastic barrel, then whipped the toy out of the bag and squirted Crowley in the face three times in succession.

“Take that, demon!”

The assault did not have the expected effect.

Crowley stilled for a moment, eyes screwed shut. She blinked rapidly and buzzed her lips, shaking the water off. No hissing; no burning-- just a droplet of water taking a ski-jump off of plush eyelids, and a confused look.

“Oh, honey-- no. Wrong set of myths.” She thumbed a droplet from her eyebrow.

“I’ll take that whiskey now.”

///

You really could get used to anything.

Aziraphale gripped Crowley’s right horn while they kissed, tracing the rough texture with her fingers.

“You don’t play the flute, do you?”

“Are you making a crack about Pan pipes? I didn’t know he was still popular in this century--”

“No. Satyrs. I thought you all played the flute.”

“I went through an extended Jethro Tull phase, does that count?”

///

“Why me?”

“You reminded me of her.”

“Who?”

“My lady. My priestess._ My Maenad.”_

///

Aziraphale had never thought of herself as much of an exhibitionist-- usually quite the opposite. It was amazing what you could get used to.

“Why can I see them now?”

“I guess-- maybe it’s because this is my domain. The woods, I mean. That, and I wanted you to see. I couldn’t hide it anymore.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Aziraphale replied. After all, that’s what she’d felt like-- when she came out. She’d told Crowley first and she’d been graced with a beatific smile and a hug and zero stupid comments and a genuine enquiry as to what Crowley could to to support her.

“Good.”

Crowley claimed Aziraphale’s lips. Her long fingers popped open the button on Aziraphale’s fly. She slipped her hand inside, palming her over her cotton pants, fingertips teasing.

“Fuck, yes--” Aziraphale broke the kiss with a gasp, her head back against the rough bark of a big old tree. They were far from any path, and she had a strong feeling that Crowley ensured they wouldn’t be disturbed. She thrust against Crowley’s palm, chasing what she needed until it was too much

Before she could even think, she was on her back on the ground.

They were kissing again-- the hard, searching kind-- lips covering teeth that nipped.

Crowley slotted her leg between Aziraphale’s knees, grinding down as she kissed her face, breathing her in. Claiming her. It wasn’t enough, could never be enough; with Crowley alive and above her, overwhelming her senses, elbows bracketing her face, wide shoulders blocking out the light. Crowley hung her head down and Aziraphale; her face way up, in order to kiss her.

“I’ve wanted this.” A kiss and Crowley ground her knee in deeper as she rolled her hips in the air. Aziraphale reached down, teasing Crowley over her trousers. “_Ah_\-- I wanted this. But this-- is a lot to hide.”

///


	2. Chapter 2

“_I don’t care. It’s fine, it’s fine--_” It was the opposite of a bad situation. She was soaking wet, and couldn’t think of a single other thing in the universe than _‘Crowley, Crowley, Crowley--’_. 

Aziraphale rolled her hips, grunting. The energy between them crackled, alive with electricity. Crowley turned her head a little too quickly and her horn scraped Aziraphale’s brow ridge, leaving a row of lethargic blood droplets in its wake.

Ah shocked gasp and Crowley stilled. “Oh! I’m sorry, I--”

“No,” Aziraphale stopped her with a hand on her elbow and held her eyes. “It’s _fine,”_ and then they were kissing again and Aziraphale was guiding her hand down her torso and under the waistband of her pants. She grunted between kisses and nodded at Crowley’s last second hesitation. Crowley cupped her mons and pushed the tip of her middle finger onto Aziraphale’s clit hood.

Aziraphale kissed her harder, and laid her hands on the back of Crowley’s neck. She rocked her hips, encouraging.

Crowley’s long middle finger swiped between Aziraphale’s lips.

At that, a low groan against Aziraphale’s ear.

“Fuck, Azi--”

Crowley laid heavily against Aziraphale, and she kissed and nipped everywhere she could reach-- lips, neck, and down to a nipple through t-shirt fabric, stiff with the cool air and arousal. Crowley withdrew her hand from Aziraphale’s pants and she ached with the loss of contact.

“I think there’s another… feature you didn’t notice.” Crowley stopped halfway down Aziraphale’s torso to look up at her. She stuck her tongue out-- and it was just a little too long.

“Oh, fuck me--”

“That’s the plan. But I was kind of hoping--” she licked her lips. Her tongue was _forked. _“--That you’d fuck my face.”

Before Aziraphale knew it, her pants were bunched along with her underwear halfway down her thighs. Her bare ass was on a scratchy picnic blanket, and Crowleys hot breath tickled her hair and chilled the damp, excited skin.

Crowley nudged Aziraphale’s legs up and over her shoulders and she lay between her spread thighs. She nosed and kissed the skin of her inner thighs-- soft and sensitive, and playfully bit the thick tendon exposed by the position. She stuck her tongue out in a suggestive display again and it would have been light-hearted, had Aziraphale not felt like she might explode. Crowley lowered her head incrementally, teasing-- until her breath ghosted Aziraphale’s clit, made large by regular T injections and now, fully engorged and peeking out from underneath its hood.

Huffs of breath taunted her and Crowley held her gaze, waiting.

“_Yes_\--”

///

Crowley’s hands are around her thighs and she dives face first into Aziraphale’s cunt.

Her hands grip Aziraphale’s thighs from underneath, a little bit above her thighs and the flesh is soft and her grip is like an anchor as Crowley has her way with her clit. She’s merciless, and her tongue is firm; unrelenting.

Her lips latch on and create suction and it’s like Aziraphale can’t escape; can’t deny the onslaught of overwhelmed nerves.

One hand moves away from her thigh and then there’s a thumb, pressing down just so on the back end of her cunt. Aziraphale writhes, her back arching and her hand seeks out the one Crowley’s left on her thigh and holds on. The other seeks out Crowley’s face, and she can feel her jaw working.

She grunts, and lets her head fall to the ground, back arching; thighs digging into Crowley’s shoulders. Her fingers trail up Crowley’s face, over her delicate cheekbones and across her temples.

She almost forgot about the fucking horns and marvels as her fingers trace into Crowley’s hairline, the skin thickening a little, forming a roll just where a horn erupts.

Crowley jolts, just slightly, and Aziraphale is about to jerk her hand away but then Crowley’s leaning into her touch. Her mouth doesn’t move an inch from Aziraphale’s clit, but Aziraphale can feel more than hear her little whimpers.

Crowley sucks harder, ramping up her pace and grinding her face against Aziraphale; nose buried in the hair on her mons and her chin wiggling against her vulva. Aziraphale is coming, but it’s that waterfall kind of orgasm where it’s just enough, until it’s not, and she cries out in ecstasy and frustration, thrusting helplessly against the thumb and tongue.

Crowley takes a little bit of pity on her and slides a single, long finger inside her. She loses that pressure at the base of her and one finger is more of a teasing promise than a good fuck, but it’s enough. She stutters out a cry and he’s coming; but Crowley’s dragging it out, thrusting the finger at speed as her tongue circles Aziraphale’s clit and pauses intermittently to swirl under the hood. Aziraphale feels like one giant exposed nerve when Crowley finally slows and pulls off of him, leaving a trail of kisses on her thigh.

She pants and breathes deeply as she comes down when she feels Crowley’s gaze on her her breath against her skin. She opens her eyes and looks down-- Crowley smirks, self satisfied-- and makes a show of licking her forefinger, twisting her long tongue halfway around it. It makes Aziraphale shiver and laugh at the same time.

“Oh my god, fuck--” she can barely get any words out; all her body wants to do is rhythmically fill and empty her lungs.

Crowley looks almost hesitant though, like she fears Aziraphale doesn’t really want this, or it’s too much, despite all evidence to the contrary-- so Aziraphale reaches down and taps her shoulder, urging her upwards. She’s over top of her and the brush of denim reminds Aziraphale that Crowley’s still clothed and untouched. Aziraphale flutters the back of her hand against her fly as she looms closer, smiling up and him; reveling in the feeling of Crowley’s hand on her rib cage. She marvels at the size-- Aziraphale’s not tiny by any stretch, but the still-damp hand over her tee covers way too much square footage for her mind not to fixate on.

She runs her hand up and down Crowley’s side, then up to her face again. It doesn’t take much to get Crowley down to kiss her and she can taste herself all over that mouth; wetness smeared on her nose and chin. Aziraphale hums, rolling her hips and rolling a thumb over the base of her horns.

Aziraphale’s naked and her soaking cunt is chilled by the breeze and she should feel exposed-- but she doesn’t. Crowley seems to worry about it anyway and lowers as she kisses her again, putting a long clothed thigh between Aziraphale’s legs, covering her with her body. Aziraphale snakes a hand between them and pops open the waistband of Crowley’s jeans and gets a grunt of relief in return.

“Mmm-- I can--” she starts to palm Crowley just lightly, aware of how hypersensitive she must be. Her mouth waters, she wants to tongue her and fuck her in kind so badly--

Crowley hovers above her. She looks hungry. She kisses Aziraphale again, her hands are sliding under her shirt, working it off and chucking it to the side.

Her fingers skitter down Aziraphale’s sides. She lays kisses and nips across her torso, and cups her large breasts. She takes each nipple lightly between her teeth, tongue flicking. Aziraphale laughs and traces her face, focusing again on her horns. Every time she does so, Crowley seems to want more, so she indulges him; tracing the skin she knows she can feel and then gripping the horn itself like a handle.

There’s a rumbling on Aziraphale’s skin and she realizes it’s Crowley-- she’s growling again-- and then strong hands are gripping Aziraphale’s waist and maneuvering her as Crowley moves to sit. She moves Aziraphale’s body with ease and she’s way stronger than she looks. She’s on Crowley’s lap for a moment and then Crowley’s on her back with her knees up and her jeans worked off and she’s straddling Crowley’s face. 

The mouth is back on her clit again and it’s as if they’d never stopped; Aziraphale is halfway to coming already. This time she laves her long tongue back and forth, looking up at Aziraphale, Her eyes glinting and mischievous. She wags her brows and Aziraphale takes the hint, and grips onto her rough bony horns like handlebars. Crowley’s got her by the hip-bones and then she greedily explores her asscheeks as her tongue practically vibrates against Aziraphale’s clit.

Aziraphale feels like she’s being cradled, her back completely supported and she rolls her hip. She reaches back with one hand to stroke her and play with her clit, but finds something else.

“I hope you don’t find me presumptuous,” Crowley says, pulling back a fraction. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter, with a second part to follow.

It’s a strap-on, and it feels like silicone. It’s about a handful, and exactly what she likes. It’s firmly in place. She looks back, and surely enough. A plump, purple dildo is attached to a secure black harness. She grins down at Crowley, hand back behind her and she grinds the toy into Crowley’s clit.

She wants to fuck her so badly and all she can think of is Crowley’s next move.

She thrusts and rolls her hips, Crowley taking her clit in and sucking, flicking her tongue back and forth. She’s impatient and desperate for Crowley to wrench Her body backwards and shove the toy inside and fuck her senseless, but she’d have to leave her delicious tongue behind. She meets Crowley’s eyes as she reaches back and plays with the strap, grinding the base into her, hoping; but Crowley isn’t done. She’ll have Aziraphale’s orgasm when she demands it. Like before, the tongue against her is nimble and the sensation changes from a roiling pleasure and into an insistent orgasm that makes Her toes curl. The feeling grows and Crowley isn’t letting up; not when Aziraphale grips Her horns-- _fucking horns_\-- and fucks her face, grinding into Crowley’s willing mouth. Crowley supports Aziraphale’s back as she arches into it and comes and comes-- and just when Aziraphale thinks he’s reached her peak, it keeps going. She goes from moaning to shouting; surprising herself with her screams that echo through the trees.

She’s not in control of her body-- Crowley’s tongue is. 

She reaches back to grasp the toy again; she wants to see her come so badly it hurts, but then that wicked mouth is robbing Aziraphale of her agency again and she can’t balance and flails. Crowley has her by the back again and she arches backward over Crowley’s knee and screams and screams her orgasm-- 

Even her voice belongs to the Satyr, now.

///

She’s pretty sure she’s still coming when Crowley flips her over again, onto her back. She spreads her legs, wrapping them around Crowley’s rib cage, and they’re kissing again, the taste of pussy as heady as it was the first time around-- but Crowley’s hand finds a grip in Aziraphale’s hair. 

She reaches down and guides her toy inside.

It’s big-- it feels bigger than it did in her grip, but it’s perfect. Aziraphale is so wet and slick that she slides inside without hesitation. Crowley goes slowly; agonizingly so, until she’s filled up completely. It’s curved just the right way, blunt head hitting exactly where she needs it. Crowley starts to thrust and Aziraphale is finally, finally getting fucked and all she can do is hold on and roll into the feeling. Her knees are hooked around Crowley’s elbows, then she’s on her side and Crowley’s arm is holding her around the back and thick fingers rub her clit until she’s coming again, grunting helplessly against Crowley’s lips. Crowley smiles. 

Her control is unfair and Aziraphale would tell her off if she could form a coherent sentence. 

Then she’s flipped over again and Crowley spoons her, sliding inside and fucking her, harder and faster still. She shoves Aziraphale’s leg up and out of the way as she finds her clit, making her come again.

Crowley holds Aziraphale’s head and neck in the crook of her elbow, nose against her ear as she continues to slide in and out. Aziraphale’s head lolls back and she wants to kiss Crowley but she can’t; all she can do is huff moans in time with each hard slide. Crowley tilts her hips just a fraction and mouths her earlobe.

The angle has Aziraphale seeing stars. She thought he’d found her g-spot a million times before.

She was wrong.

At this point, her clit is almost painful to touch, but Crowley sticks to rubbing the top and sides, pressing down and leaving the hood in place.

Aziraphale howls and moans-- there’s no longer a beginning or end to the sensation, she’s just crashing into wave after wave of orgasm. Crowley finally seems affected, choking out hoarse moans from the back of her throat. Every slick slide of the shaft sends a new jolt through Aziraphale and she fucks harder and harder into her.

Finally, Crowley grunts like she’s losing control. She pounds inside, relentless and fast, pawing at Aziraphale’s face and neck with one hand and not letting up with the other. Her thrust change-- short and hard. Aziraphale grinds into another howled, screaming orgasm that she didn’t see coming.

Crowley nips at Aziraphale’s neck, whimpering.

Knees shaking and heart pounding, Aziraphale pulls off of the dildo. She kisses and cups Crowley’s small, pert breasts and snakes a hand down to the dildo-- hot with her own body heat and absolutely soaking. She pushes it into Crowley’s clit and then slips underneath it. Crowley jerks and moans, needily. One last kiss to her lips. Aziraphale holds her hand and shoves the dildo aside, laving her tongue against her clit. She’s soaked and engorged and desperate. Aziraphale finally gets this feeling and she suckles her clit, alternating vibrating her tongue and grinding into it. She plunges two fingers inside Crowley, who squeezes her hand and thrusts. Finally, she clenches around Aziraphale’s fingers and comes with a groan, arching her back, legs tensing and messing up the blanket. 

///

Neither of them can move for a long moment, save for Crowley’s wincing. She collapses behind Aziraphale and holds her close, bunching the blanket around them as the forest falls into dusk.

///

“Holy shit, I had the strangest dream---”

“It wasn't” Crowleys voice was roughened by sleep and gravely. Aziraphale swore the sound alone had her dripping, making her very aware that the long sleep shirt she was wearing barely covered her naked ass.

Aziraphale laughed, almost silently; but her smile took over her whole face. “I know it wasn't-- that was the-- shut up, Crowley--”

“I didn't say anything--”

“No, I know we fucked “ She padded closer-- “best I've had in- who am I kidding. Best I've had, ever will have--”

Crowley cut her off with a kiss, one Aziraphale had already been reaching for, and greedy hands held low on her hips. She's teased the hem of her shirt with her thumbs, grip getting bolder. Aziraphale sighed into the kiss. She leaned her weight against Crowley and let her have free reign.

///

Crowley explored the skin between Aziraphale's cheeks with long fingers, tracing wetness not from last night but from Aziraphale waking up, desperate to be fucked.

“No, I dreamt--” Aziraphale ran her hands through Crowley’s hair, determined to get her words out before she got lost in the moment. “You had-- y’know,” she said, between smacked kisses and Crowley’s increasing insistence.

“Horns.”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“It wasn’t a dream, Azi.”


	4. ii. Sleepdrunk, their limbs at odds?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Hell was a terrible idea,” she said. “Now this. This is worship--”_

_Decay_

The fruiting bodies of mushrooms, a few months after the soft belly of a sequoia was slashed open and spilled on its roots.

There, the rain and dew would soak the golden curls and the mycelium would make its home. Make plans. and feed the visiting bees.

Mead.

The Mellissi, having finished their delicate recipe, allowed Man to take a ration; and she in turn brewed the mead which they had discovered by accident. And if that accident by chance included brewing in containers tainted with the essence of their last guest-- a certain species of the kingdom fungi, then the men would be lent a horrifying and confusing jaunt with the vision of the Gods.

Death, and her habit of exposing the lovely bones of felled creatures.

Decay, the universal constant.

* * *

Crowley nuzzled her nose into Aziraphale's sweaty hair. Golden curls, golden curls. She slept still, head supported by Crowley’s elbow and limbs askew, enveloped in clean linens.

She knew too much about decay, but never felt animosity toward it. She would watch this woman die. That was almost certain-- but the heartbreak was a blessing in and of itself.

* * *

There’s Aziraphale’s apartment and there’s Crowley’s apartment; but she always claims she doesn’t need it really-- that sometimes she just walks and walks and walks...

“Are you-- are you trying to ask me something? Crowley?”

“Coffee’s on hon, want some?”

“Crowley, I just-- really?” Aziraphale unfolded her legs from the sofa and followed Crowley into the kitchen. Crowley wore a pair of Aziraphale’s sleep pants-- a present and always too long for her-- and a small black tank. No bra. She found she rather liked the view, and had gotten used to it since Crowley had taken up crashing at her flat on a regular basis. The pajamas were soft and they hung on her slight hips, every delicate swell and valley on display--

“Well?” asked Crowley, over her shoulder.

“Okay, fine-- I guess. Cream?”

“Huh?”

“Coffee. Do you want--”

“Oh. Right. No, black. Got sugar?”

“My eyes are up here.” Crowley winked and licked a spoon clean, hip leaned on the counter.

“Oh, for--” she felt her face colour, which did no favours for her bravado.

_Shit._

She opened the fridge and retrieved a fat red tomato and whatever else she could shove into the crook of her elbow to make salad with. Crowley slid the coffee cup over and watched as Aziraphale tried to hide her hot face in the busywork of salad making.

“Oh don't-- sorry, are you cutting the tomatoes now?”

“Why?”

“They get a little _euch_ in the fridge if we're not gonna eat it right now--”

“Oh, and you’re the expert on Greek salad?” A giggle bubbled up in her chest and Aziraphale grinned despite herself, hazarding a glance at Crowley.

“Yes.” She winked and took a gulp of coffee. Aziraphale went back to her vegetables-- but left the tomatoes off to the side.

The clink of ceramic on ceramic stove and Crowley’s warm figure was behind her; hands on her hips and lips at her earlobe.

A low rumble. “You smell like flowers, my dear,” Crowley said against her neck as her hands spread out across Aziraphale’s belly and chest, under her arms.

Gooseflesh crept over Aziraphale’s body, the tickle of Crowley’s lips making her shoulder creep up to her ear. Crowley got there first. she ran her teeth gently over the thick tendon there, down to her shoulder, kissing the skin.

Fingers found the hem of Aziraphale’s shirt at the top of her thighs. Aziraphale’s back arched.

She held Aziraphale’s hips again, tight to her crotch, and snaked a hand down to rub and tease her over her pajamas. Aziraphale spread her legs and leaned back against her-- a deft hand sneaking up inside her shirt and caressing her bare breasts, the other holding on and teasing as Crowley explored what skin she could reach with her mouth.

Aziraphale was thrown back into memories of the forest; the smell of sex and skin and salty ozone and fecund rot.

* * *

_Meadow_

Barriers fell by the second. It didn’t matter, now-- the weirdness of bodies disappearing in the black pool of eternity, seen through the eyes of a woman out of time.

Crowley turned Aziraphale around; her tailbone against the countertop, heat radiating off the side of the aging refrigerator. She put her wide hands against the flat surface on each side of Aziraphale’s waist and took over her field of vision.

She stared into Aziraphale’s eyes like she could see right through her-- like she could see everything, if she wanted to. Her head slinked to the side, snakelike, and she scanned her lover’s face-- and then sharply inhaled.

In a magnetic snap of static energy, magnificent horns became visible again.

Sweet evening breeze swam through the room.

“Hell was a terrible idea,” she said. “Now this. This is worship--”

Aziraphale planted her palms against Crowley’s tank and grabbed it, pulling her down and kissing her, walking her backwards. Out of the kitchen, and halfway down the hall where Crowley picked her up just above her knees and ground her against the wall, knee between her legs and thigh giving just enough pressure; Aziraphale’s muscular thighs squeezing tight.

A whine shook Crowley’s chest.

She jostled Aziraphale back onto her forearms and walked the dozen steps back to the small bedroom. They tumbled onto the bed face to face-- the ceiling turned summer evening blue when night was here, but she allowed the last of the light to catch wisps of cloud, glowing white in moonlight against a purpling backdrop.

Crowley devoured her mouth, eyes shut tight.

A flickering image came into Aziraphale's head-- of this strange meadow; its fairy rings and wildflowers thriving in some otherworldly everlasting night.

Below the stars, their skeletons: entwined.

Bodies once alive and hot atop one another now laced together, all softness gone-- to the flowers, now.

A whine. Crowley pawing at her, her kisses desperate and a hot tear falling on Aziraphale's face

Crowley was gone and Aziraphale swore she heard a whimper. Their hands still entwined, Aziraphale watched her kiss her way down her body, nipping as she went.

She came with Crowley’s mouth sucking her clit and a finger sunk inside, tongue running incessant circles over the sensitive head. she comes again after a half-second of respite, and again with three fingers fucking her, blunt and shallow.

Aziraphale’s skin is pins and needles but he’s not oversensitized and Crowley keeps going. she grips the miraculous horns in front of her and hangs on, her hips rolling and riding Crowley’s fingers as she pulls every last scream from her with her lips and the relentless strokes inside

_“I don’t miss the Bacchanalia… most days.”_

The voice came into Aziraphale’s head, unbidden and clear when she stroked a finger across Crowley’s temple, rough horn grazing the back of her knuckle. she jerked her hand away, but Crowley looked up at her-- hair a wreck and mouth glistening and wet. A grave expression on her face, she looked desperate and lost.

Aziraphale touched her head again, and that same electric pulse shot through her, the atmosphere growing heavy and twitching like he’d walked through a wall of water and out the other side.

_“Take-- it’s all for you--”_

And flashing, disjointed images; not from Aziraphale’s own head-- deep, dark wood; far from any hint of civilization. Crowley’s fingers were still buried deep inside her cunt and she pulled at her clit with soft lips and licked and sucked; Aziraphale’s hips rocking of their own accord, her back arching with it.

Figures; bodies dancing with a determined purpose between the trees-- seen at first from a shy, discreet distance, and then from the centre. Stomping and screaming, passing around a rough read earthen work vase and drinking greedily from it. Small fires illuminating snippets of faces and torsos adorned with leaves or paint or nothing. Out of the corner of her vision, a rough grey mass, curling around her cheekbone. Hands across her shoulders and chest, welcoming the outsider they had prayed for.

Aziraphale’s back was cold and a little damp with silky poa and dark earth and she reached back, grabbing clumps of the plant in her hands as she writhed with Crowley’s rhythm. she jerked in shock when her toe brushed against the unexpected texture of a mushroom and Crowley smiled against her, moving so Aziraphale’s knees hung over her wide shoulders.

_“There’s a sliver of her in you-- the mad drive toward the theatrics of faith. The masks of _you_\--”_

Aziraphale’s own face, wearing a boudoir mask. Grinning at the onlooker with soft eyes. A little wiggle of the eyebrows that nobody else could see, and a surprised laugh.

Thousands of faces. Evergreens covered in three feet of snow on every branch. Parties and rituals and rites both inside and out but always covered in a thick overlay of greenery. Bows and vines and heads adorned with laurel.

Aziraphale. Younger. After a really wild party and a bad fight, if memory served.

She recognized her own face through the haze of overwhelming sensation and thinking about nothing much at all-- except coming to a massive relief of a conclusion and a new ability to see herself in her own future, rather than a big expanse of nothing.

But she saw herself from below, like her perspective was from something in her hand. her face was scuffed up; a scrape on her chin and a bit of mud on her cheek. she watched herself reach over with the other hand with a corkscrew. she ripped off the foil and it fell to the ground and twisted off the cork. A chunk of it fell inside the bottle and her point of view rapidly rose above herself, drinking straight from the wine bottle, perched on a cement bridge railing in the park.

_Freedom._


	5. Chapter 5

_Newness_

_Aziraphale walks to work with a hangover and a heavy beat in her ears. _

She stops at a corner and crosses into the park and sits on a bench. She taps a search query into her phone.

_[Can you get high from sex] _returns bad pop-psych article for prudes without an actual problem, a few dense pubmed articles. She taps in a new one.

_[Too much sex], and then adds: [Too much sex, hallucination]._

* * *

Well that was the workday shot, Aziraphale thought as she sat at her desk. She threw her hood over her head and her headphones and tried to look _broodingly focused_ on the task at hand, but all she could think of was she was achingly and undeniably turned on.

_[SIGNS OF POSESION]_

_“Did you mean: SIGNS OF _POSSESSION_?”_

“Fuck off, you know that’s what I mean,” she grumbled under her breath.

_[SIGNS OF POSSESSION “DEMONIC”]_

_[SIGNS OF POSSESSION “GHOST”]_

_[greek myth dyonysus satyr horns]_

“Fuckssakes-- gross.” The internet, always making it weird.

_[greek myth dyonysus satyr horns -”dungeons and dragons”]_

_[greek myth dyonysus satyr horns -”dungeons and dragons” -fetish]_

Someone tapped on Aziraphale’s headphone and she heard a sort of weird, echoed plastic rapping. She startled and ripped them off her head, whipping around.

“I _said--_ the fuck are you looking up?” Her coworker-- a handsome woman a few years her senior, named Michael-- leaned forward and looked at what Aziraphale was reading. “Ha-- that’s awesome, is this for an article”

“Yep. Video. Yeah. I gotta-- I’m late, I have an. Uh. Phone interview. Bye.”

Aziraphale hoped she hadn’t seemed as unfriendly as he’d felt as she shoved her things in her bag and dashed for the exit.

* * *

She needed to stop thinking about that morning.

And the night before.

And just before they had both left for work.

And when Crowley stopped by her work for lunch in her vintage car and they fucked in the back seat. The next day, a storage closet. The next day, a conference room.

Aziraphale pulled out her phone the instant she was outside and dialled Crowley.

“What did you mean, _exactly_, when you said _‘Hell was a bad idea’?_”

“Um. Hello to you too?”

“Crowley, Goddammit.”

“Sorry. Um, I-- can this wait? I kind of have a meeting, actually--” _Christ, if she didn’t sound-- fucking _sleepy_ and-- Frustrating. Just, frustrating._

“Fine,” Aziraphale growled into the speaker. “Just-- God.”

“Hmm. Not quite.” she was talking around a mouthful of donut. And _grinning_. Aziraphale could hear it.

_“Fucker.” _

_“Oh! That is one of my many skills. Would you like to book an appointment--”_

“Shut up Crowley.” She’d done it again; made Aziraphale laugh. Shit, this was going to be hard to figure out.

“Ha-- okay. I am sorry though. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m-- I’m fine. I just-- we need to talk.”

“Oh fantastic. The worst sentence in the English language. I’m looking forward to it.”

“No, I’m not-- not that. Thing.”

A sigh of relief. Since when did immortal beings worry about getting dumped-- but then again, since when did demons?

“After work though-- would you care to go for another hike?” The sound of slurping tea. Was it possible to hear ‘suggestively raised eyebrows and an expectant pause’ through a phone, Aziraphale wondered.

Aziraphale felt her face flush. Hiking was exactly how she’d gotten into this mess. She’d never forget about that day-- the rough bark against her bare skin. Wet grass and a scratchy blanket on her back.

Horns. Under her hands like handles, and she; riding Crowley’s face as she drove her toward orgasm, over and over--

“Aziraphale? Earth to Aziraphale--” a sniff of amusement. “Are you still there, my dear?”

Her first attempt at a response was more of a squeak.

“Yep. Hiking sounds great.”

_Shit. _

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! let me know if you enjoyed this


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